What is the worth of art? What is the worth of one's livelihood? These days the 2 questions are connected. It seems that now, in today's economy, the artist no longer has a right to make a living. While artists are certainly not the only ones struggling in today's world, art appears to have taken a particular hit. In the world of illustration, there are reports of publishing houses that send the staff out with digital cameras to capture images previously created by an artist. Fine art is viewed as fluff, for which no one currently has a use. And then we read commentaries by pundits who think government money to the National Endowment for the Arts is wasted. "Doesn't create jobs". Don't artists, dancers, actors, writers, and all people in the arts have a right to a paying career, as do auto workers, computer programmers, clerks, etc.? What I have studied and worked for in the past 20+ years now has no value. None. All we can do is keep working, and try to break some new ground. After all, if no one is buying, we get to put on the canvas whatever we want.

So tell me. Who is reading this? Absolutely no one, and why should they? I am bereft of even a modicum of talent for anything, much less writing. I have spent a day struggling with a painting, and the fight is finished. The winner: the art supply store, whose product I have just wasted once again. Seems I can only relate to these little pieces, the one I have posted here. A small 7" X 9", it is as delicate as the nutlets it portrays. I have bought several college textbooks from the 1930's and '40's. Their beauty and gentle earnestness entrance me, so much so that all I really want to do is small collage pieces. They work for me. They like me. I like them. Not so the big, lurching canvases and boards that stare at me with much hostility beckoning me to failure. But who has the time-to really look at this work? The little botanicals? The lovely old typefaces, the sublime illustrations, the patient explanation of the workings of a stamen. Only for the artist to behold.

I have been thinking lately about the nature of gifts. We all give gifts. We all receive them. We worry about what we give-and sometimes about what we get. What is this psychology of gifts? Better givers than receivers? Visa versa? Here is an incident that prompted these thoughts.

On Christmas eve I received an envelope. Inside was a bank check-no account holder's name, no information-anonymous. Accompanying it was a beautiful note, printed from a computer. Also anonymous. It said that the money ( a sizable amount) was from friends who cared about me. That it was not necessary to know who sent it. That it was a gift to me and my family to use as I liked. That Christmas was a time of giving for the joy of it. It was probably one of the most generous and amazing gifts I have ever gotten. For someone to give that amount of money and expect no "thank you" in return, no "points", no-nothing, was beyond my capacity to process. I cried most of the day. Part of it was the loneliness of the first Christmas without Jamie, who died 3 months before. But much of it was the conflicting emotions I was fighting. I was profoundly touched and grateful for this gift. But did I deserve it? I was beset with the need to thank-who? Who was this angel (or angels) who gave so generously with no need for reciprocation? And why did it inspire tremendous love and gratitude in me-but also anxiety? 

2 things here: I clearly don't deserve it. But do any of us deserve any gift we get? And also, its a communication interuppted. There is something unsetteling about getting something and not being able to respond to the giver. 

So I thank this kind person or persons in my prayers everyday, and remember, that they did it for my good-and I hope for theirs.

In the beginning...

Today is the first day of the rest of my blog. Who knows where it will take me? Patience please, while I work this out.